


Sand in Fists

by turnyourankle



Category: Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Genderbend, girl!Travis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-02
Updated: 2008-05-02
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three days left of summer and Pete can feel the expectations winding tight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand in Fists

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well! It's been a while since I wrote anything for myself (read: a weird pairing only I care about!) so I guess it was about time. There's more to this 'verse that didn't really fit into this timeline/narrative, but it might surface eventually. We'll see. Many thanks to lovebashed for the read through ♥. Feedback is always very welcome and appreciated.

"Is it a chick thing?" Pete asks, face mushed against Travie's thigh from the way he's curled around her sitting figure. That way, the sun doesn't prickle his eyes and he has a perfect view of the rest of the bus. He's taking up more space on the bed than she is, but is she wanted to she could kick him out, so he just wriggles deeper into the pile of covers.

"Is what a chick thing?" 

"The smell. Or lack of smell, I guess. I mean, I haven't seen you by the hose down improv showers but you still smell awesome," Pete says before biting some of the bunched up fabric of Travie's pants. It even tastes clean.

"I don't even know if I should be offended or flattered, dude. I get that you want to see me naked and all--who wouldn't?--but assuming the nice smell is a chick thing is just fucked up."

"You've been spending too much time with the chemical posse. Our bus doesn't stink and I'm the only chick here, you really think I clean it all up or something? You've met 'Sashi, he's so clean you could eat off him and he ain't no chick."

"Speaking from experience?"

Travie lets out a low laugh. "Best fucking body shots you'll ever have, swear to god."

"You have them pretty whipped, they could be doing the cleaning for you."

She doesn't protest, lips tight around her blunt. "That'd be a me thing, in that case, not a chick thing. And stop trying to eat my jeans, Wentz. Go steal me some dry bagels from your fancy catering."

 

*

 

Three days left of summer and Pete can feel the expectations winding tight. Joe's been buying a different Pez dispenser for Marie at each gas station; Pete narrowly escapes Joe's monologue on why she'll love each plastic toy by hiding in the Gym Class bus, watching as Travie raids the lounge. 

"It's finders keepers, and Matt always forgets where he puts his shit," she says, dropping two small bags of weed on the table, a victorious smile on her face.

"Whatcha gonna do when you go home?" 

Travie shrugs, stuffing the two bags into her shirt. ”Catch up on some exhibits, I guess. Soak some of Matt's underwear in beer." She grins. "Play a little Easter egg hunt with 'Sashi's ipod. Y'know, nothing out of the usual. Might get some new ink to celebrate getting out of here alive. Assuming we do. You?"

"I think there's this family dinner I have to go to. I should probably catch up on my sleep, too." The ease with which the lie rolled off his tongue bothers Pete. He's been telling it for so long now that it shouldn't. 

"Lemme know how that works out for you." She adjusts her shirt, hands patting her boobs. "Even?"

Pete nods. "Ace. If that sleep thing ever gets boring you should visit."

 

*

 

Pete sleeps with Jeanae the night he gets home, her skin and bed smelling of someone other than her, other than him. She doesn't owe him anything, but she lets him in like always. Letting him take what he needs, her palms cradling his face firmly.

She doesn't come; just pulls down her t-shirt again, and kisses him goodnight. She leaves a space in her bed for him, and lies down her back to him when she falls asleep.

Her alarm clock was always too bright, too neon for Pete, and it's staring at him, reminding him of how bad he is at pretending. His fingers twitch to turn it away from him, or put it inside the nightstand's drawer (where it always lived when he and Jeanae were something he could name), but he doesn't have that privilege anymore. 

He imagines Travie awake in New York, probably far away from any kind of alarm clock, face bare and waiting.

 

*

 

Travie's New York is everything Pete wants, and everything he doesn't need. Travie's fingers tight around his wrist, tugging him along behind her. 

She takes him to a Richard Estes exhibit, studying each painting carefully. Her fingers twine a cigarette as she makes the available space hers. The sharp angles and realistic motifs mounted on the walls make Pete's skin crawl, and he watches Travie's face. Unimpressed as she inches closer to what looks like a photo of an escalator. 

"I didn't know that was your kind of thing, it's so like, sharp, dude."

"It is what it is, ain't it?"

"What?"

"What things are supposed to look like to everyone else. S'good to know."

Pete left his meds in Chicago, and he waits for someone to call, to show up with them. But no one knows; no one would know. He gets a text from Patrick, asking, We still on for friday?

Pete tries to take a cell photo of Travie lying on a park bench with a roach in her mouth, Statue of Liberty hovering in the background. It's too dark for it to turn out well; only the silhouette of the statue is visible, a dark unambiguous shape in a pool of light. Pete adds elsewhere before sending it to Patrick.

He watches Travie's chest heave as she exhales, and takes what she offers. 

 

*

 

She won't hold his hand, even after they fuck. Her hand always moves up to his elbow, cradling it authoritatively. 

Pete buries his head into her neck, licking along the lines of her tattoo. He plants his lips at the tip of her collarbone, sucking, on the brim of forming a hickey--testing limits--before she pushes him off, rolling him onto his back.

She can pin him down easily, and she does, teeth sharp against his hipbones and the base of his cock. It's teasing, the way her lips will skim over sensitive skin and then pull away. Crawling into his lap and licking his fingers before placing them on her clit. 

"You're not the only person in this equation, dude," she says slyly, jerking him off when his fingers are inside of her.

She wakes him up in the afternoon by poking him in the stomach with her bare toes, tickling his bellybutton. She wears boy's briefs and a lace bra when she makes him breakfast. The smell of acrylics is stronger than that of the coffee, and Pete inhales as deeply as he can.


End file.
